Epilogue

I am not a cancer survivor.

It is important to understand what this means. From the day I was diagnosed to the day I woke up from surgery to remove the final traces of cancerous growth in my body, there elapsed 140 days (or, just a bit of one-third of one year, 38% to be exact). In that time, I received chemotherapy on 27 days (19%), and went through roughly 3.5 hours of surgery.

At no point in this process was there a consideration that I might die as the result of the disease. There was no point at which anyone involved imagined it would take more than six months at the very worst.

For most cancer patients, the process takes months or years, there is a real threat of death, and even the treatment leaves the person wasted and weakened. For me, the process has been a tremendous annoyance. Nothing more. I have spent most of the last half-year angry, upset, depressed, sullen, and vicious – and mostly annoyed. I have not reached into the depths of my psyche to realise something new about myself as a person. I have not grappled with my feelings of mortality and impotence. I have railed against the arbitrary universe, but I always did, and will do. I have taken nothing from this experience, because, ultimately, this experience was nothing – compared to the suffering that most cancer patients go through every day for months, I have no right to complain, and nothing beyond a handful of feverish nights to point to and say, “that’s what it’s like to have cancer."

I have been extremely lucky. For a time, I held in my body the greatest killer in the natural world, and the experience was like dusting away flies. I can move on with the remainder of what will perhaps be a long and healthful life. It cost me virtually nothing.

I do not - I fear I never will - understand how it was that I developed this disease. It doesn't matter. It's gone. I have scars now that I carry with neither pride nor shame. This happened. I dealt with it. I wish I hadn't needed to. May no-one reading this ever have to do the same.

Evanston
February-June, 2005

One Year Later
You know what? Maybe I am a cancer survivor after all. And maybe that's a good thing.

Evanston
June, 2006

Aw, hell

At 7:30 in the morning, 15 June, 2005, I will be entering the hospital to have a mass removed from my left lung. I will be in the hospital for 1-2 nights. This is considered a major operation, but I am an ideal candidate, and my recovery time should be minimal. This will be the last cancer-related incident I shall have to undergo.

I will conclude this narrative when I'm on the other side of surgery.

I'm still here

I felt the need to post that I am not dead, so that the two people still occasionally checking this site will be reassured on that point.

As it stands, this is the condition of my health:

I have a mass of some sort in my lung. It could probably stay there (60%) but we can't know 'til it comes out. The coming out is scheduled for June 15, having been pushed from June 10 a few days ago. I have been pursuing a holistic approach towards healing myself, but I doubt its efficacy, and I will not be eschewing surgery in favor of holistics; if I eschew surgery, it's just because I don't want a chunk of my lung taken out. I really fucking don't want a chunk of my lung taken out.

Dates:
1 June - followup evaluation to see if the holistics did anything at all.
2 June - breathing class
4 June - blood work (Eastwood, 2002)
6 June - pre-op evaluation
8 June - breathing evaluation
15 June - fucking goddammit cocksucker. Also, Batman Begins opens, and I strongly doubt I will be able to attend.

Gaaah

The short version: I need surgery, and it is going to suck.

The long version: there is no long version. I need surgery, and it is going to suck, and the alternative is a very premature death, and that doesn't mean I've decided yet.

It ain't over 'til it's over

And it ain't over.

At some point, a "5-10% chance" that I'd need surgery turned into "about 40% of cases need surgery." I don't know if he was lying to me then to ease my mind, or lying to me now to ease my mind, or if there's some Kabbalistic difference between the two statements. But the point being, I need surgery. In all other ways, I am in all-but-unbelievably good health. I am recovering from chemotherapy with nearly (but not quite) unheard of speed and efficiency.

Just, there's something in my lung. Maybe a bit of tumor (bad!). Maybe a bit of scar tissue (benign). Maybe a nifty little thing called a teratoma (will eventually turn into cancer; next week or in 2030, it's impossible to predict). We can't know without removing it. And so remove it we shall.

I know nothing else right now. I talk to a thoracic surgeon one week from today. After that, I'll know the where and when and everything else worth knowing.

Honestly, this is more annoying than upsetting.

But I am finding it difficult to maintain my sense of joy.

These are the days of miracle and wonder

I went and got myself a CT scan today, and with a little bit of luck I will learn in three days that there's not one damn speck of cancer left anywhere inside of me.

In what I cannot believe is a coincidence, I have been happier today than I have been in oh, about twelve weeks. If I believed in the soul, I'd say I had a weight lifted from it. As is, I'll just say that I am profoundly relaxed and (dare I - I, of all nihilistically gloomy men! - say it) full of joy for life. I can't bring myself to believe that there's anything left to worry about.

A 5% chance that I'll need surgery to remove scar tissue. But what's 5%?

Come on, Thursday! Let's get it over with! I'm soon to move on, and begin my fucking life again! God, it feels good to say that! Everything feels good!

לחיים

It's over!

I have received the last dose of chemo I will ever receive. And I have suffered no ill effects today; perhaps a little fatigue (damn you Benadryl!), but certainly no fevers or anything else unpleasant.

I'm done with chemo. I'm done with motherfucking chemo! I still feel all excited saying it...I know it's only been nine weeks, but they've been hell. And they're over now. Yeah, it'll take a while for my body to recover (I won't be doing any marathons this month), and technically, I haven't been "cleared" and it's possible that I might yet need surgery. But the chemo is over. Which is a very wonderful thing.

Josh Elder - whose personal experience puts my whiny two months to shame - gave me a bit of advice awhile back: "those first few weeks post-chemo will be some of the best in your life. Savor them." Thank you, Mr. Elder. I think I shall.

It's almost over!

Oh, how I do enjoy Wednesdays.

Left work at 1:15 with a fever of 100.5 degrees, slept pretty much straight from 1:40-4:30, drifted in and out of consciousness for a few hours, and in bed for the night by 9:00.

But that doesn't matter nearly as much as: only one more of the fuckers to go. Seven days from right now, I will be completely done with chemotherapy drugs. And 28 days from today is The End, in which I talk to my doctor, etc. Four weeks, I can handle. Especially because most of that four weeks will be drug-free and proud.

At the moment, I even feel pretty much like a normal human being, albeit a sleepy one.

Weekend Thoughts III

The generally anemic* quality of my posts for the past week bears some explanation and apology, for those who still read me.

You see, each an' every single cycle of chemotherapy weakens your body a little bit more than the last. Because, although the weeks off let the system recuperate a bit, it's not enough to regain 100% functionality. So every cycle leaves me a bit more winded, because I wasn't as good to start.

It's also a bit geometric: the weaker I start, the more is taken out of me. I grew proportionally weaker during Cycle 3 than Cycle 2, etc.

Which is all to say, I felt really goddamn worn-out as of roughly Wednesday morning, and I'm still not completely back in the world of humanity. I'm not in the world of humanity at all, actually, just a reasonable facsimile thereof. I have pervasive acid reflux, a general inability to focus, and a complete unwillingness to do anything physically stressful, like stand, talk on the phone, or drink water.

The good news, is that it's effectively over. I have to go to the hospital 5 more times for this whole cancer-type deal (I am going to assume that surgery will prove unnecessary, because dammit!...well, just dammit). Only two of those are chemo. And while Wednesdays have consistenly sucked, they haven't been long-term sucky, just one-off shots of sucky.

At one point, I had hoped that this board would serve as an inspiring tale of how cancer doesn't have to ruin your life. And it has, insofar as it's mostly a tale of how thoroughly chemotherapy ruins your life. Actually, I felt just fine with cancer for almost a full year. It's just the seven weeks of treatment that have driven me into suicidal despair.

Kidding! I was never suicidal. And it hasn't been that big a deal; 4 days out of every 21 have been almost intolerable, and then I get better. Remember kids, check yourself for suspicious lumps every month. And tell your doctor if you find any. Because I want every last goddamn one of you to suffer the way I have.

Kidding again! I wish cancer on no-one! Because it's a bad thing. Even though I have inspiringly sailed through it in a measly seven weeks.

Seriously, I cannot believe that people manage to do this for months at a time. I have really indescribable respect for those who did. I'm just coasting through on bile and sarcasm, and I am truly in awe of those who had to actually suffer for huge portions of their lives.

*A weak pun.

The last full day

My fifteenth full day of chemotherapy is also, thank God, Christ and all the little angels, the last. And I feel pretty damned good, if I do say so myself. A little worn down, and I have some nasty acid reflux...but FUCK IT! I AM DONE WITH CHEMO! (at least, in practical terms...the little half-hour trips on Wednesday don't count, at least not to my immediate psychological well-being).

As I posted a couple days ago, what remains is simplicity itself: a quick shot of Neulasta on Monday, two Wednesdays (and we never know what fun to expect with those, do we...), and then, on the faraway so close day of April 25, a CT scan that, God willing and the crick don't rise, will show that I have No Cancer Of Any Kind in my body.

This is such a fucking relief. And I'm not even, like done yet. So in about two weeks, I will be Cap'n Ecstatic, I will. Watch this space for more.

Home stretch

I've been kickin' it in Lake Villa since yesterday evening, as I forgot to mention. Which is sort of nice (I don't have to cook) and sort of really crappy (1hr+ car ride instead of 3 minute car ride. Which nearly killed me this morning).

I am so insanely close to done, I don't mind how utterly weak and tired I feel right now. And it is rather curious, just how week and tired I feel. Tomorrow should be a delight.

But Good God! only one more full day of chemotherapy! I can't even begin to say how happy that makes me feel.

Anyway, I spent most of today sleeping. Which is why I have to indulge in platitudes.

The end is near

The big news of the day is that I have the utter final schedule of everything:
-Tomorrow is chemo.
-Friday is chemo.
-Monday is neulasta.
-3/30 is bleomcyin
-4/6 is bleomycin.
-4/25 is my CT scan.
-4/28, I see Dr. Shevrin, and he theoretically tells me that I'm healthy.
-4/28, evening: I carouse.

Not that is hasn't been fun, but it hasn't. And I'm thrilled out of my mind that it's so close to over.

In general news, I feel good (just a lil' bit of stomach acid) and I'm hanging together pretty damn well. And I'm really, mostly excited that I have only two more full days of chemo. Thank Christ.

Twofer

The internet was out last night, so I couldn't post. To those who were horribly disappointed by that:
1) I'm sorry.
2) Get a life.

The good news is that I'm just fine. I found out that the last CT scan will be 2-3 weeks after the last bleomycin. So 4-5 weeks from tomorrow, plus a day or two, and I'll know if I'm cured.

Also, I'm really tired, but that's not so much the cancer or the chemo as it is Cerridwen, waking me up at 3:00 AM the last two nights.

Bad kitty.

FUCKING WEDNESDAYS!

I didn't have a fever, and isn't that a good thing...

But I did sleep pretty much straight through from 5:00 'til about 8:30. And I'm not, like "awake" right now, and will be turning in early. I want to reiterate: it's very annoying that my worst side effects are happening because of an OTC drug.

Sorry to those who I offended over the phone (I was quite popular this afternoon), but in my defense, you did wake me up. And I don't wake up easy.

Three weeks! 21 days! Hoorah!

(Even though y'all will be spring breaking it up, I'm still going to post. Read if it is your desire to do so).

I hate Wednesdays

Yesterday started out well, although I did have to wait forever. (The lobby was standing-room only. Kind of depressing.) Got filled up with bleomycin, went to work, etc.

The fun kicked in around 3:30 in the afternoon, when I started to fall asleep at my desk. I'd already arranged for my parents to come by at 4:30 (dinner et al), so I decided to just wait it out. By the time they arrived, I was pretty damned dead.

So I went home, took a nap - took several naps actually, each about 30 minutes long, over a four-hour period - and found out that I had a temperature of 102 degrees. Yee-haw.

The only thing worse than being drugged-out and tired is being drugged-out, tired, and delirious from fever. I don't think I did things last night, but I don't know for sure. I do remember at least one completely incoherent phone conversation with Amy (sorry) and the intention of writing an e-mail to Nick Young (if I didn't: sorry. If I did: very sorry).

The fever broke at about 9:45, I managed to eat a fairly substantial amount of food, and was in bed around 11:15. I slept well enough, although I'm still pretty damn tired.

My question: why do these things only happen on off-weeks?

Weekend Thoughts II

I have successfully survived another full week of chemo, although it took a little more out of me than the first time. This despite my midweek burst of energy and delight. "Energy" and "delight" in quotes.

The very good news: I had a hot dog today! Because red meat is tasty, and good for my diminished red blood cells. And as my dietician has said, I should eat that which I crave, as long as I can keep it down. And I know that one must have a ludicrously relative sense of good news for this to qualify, but you know what? I have cancer. I'll make my own damn rules.

I am feeling better, though. And I'm looking forward to work again. Which still scares me to say.

Two weeks down

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that someone had spent the last five days flooding my system with toxic chemicals in the hope of destroying clusters of cells in my body.

Seriously, I'm not so much tired...it's more that I'm really fucking worn out. I still have an appetite, I'm not nauseous, all that jazz...but good God, do I feel out of it. Ain't got no right to complain, though - in five weeks, it will all be over, and let's face it, the last two of those are going to be a cakewalk.

But I feel so...ragged. Like I've spent the last week starving myself, or not sleeping, or God knows what.

But you know what, it's another week done. I am one week closer to being cancer-free. Which is all that really matters. Or sumthin'.

I am the belle of the ball

This cancer thing has brought me into some degree of celebrity, thanks to the efforts of some former CRCers, who I will not embarass by name. Nonetheless, I appreciate your aid in bringing my cheery gospel of "it's just a dread disease, not the end of the world" to a larger audience.

And it really isn't the end of the world; I still maintain that the new Warner Bros. cartoon will prove much more harmful to my long-term health and happiness than anything involving some small number of rampaging mutant cells.

Especially after my news of yesterday, which still gives me a warm and fuzzy, can-do Hardy Boys-style, America in the 1950's, we can achieve anything! sort of rush. What's odd is that, two months ago, I would have been devastated to hear that I would need to be in chemo for nine weeks. And now? WOO-HOO, IT'S NOT TWELVE! We take our victories where we can.

Thanks to M. Deline and Mlle. Reeder, for paying me visits today. As rip-snorting as chemotherapy is, it's really good to have someone there with me.

The bad: Jade poked a hole right through my vein on the first time, leaving a small geyser of blood to deal with; and right now, I am so damn tired I can hardly type. Which is to say that I, Timothy Brayton, all of 23 years of age and a recent college graduate, will be asleep by 10:30 on a weeknight. I am sorry to have failed you all. Good night.

One last thought before I leave - as of today, I have been to the hospital on 12 separate days for chemo-related drugs: 9 full days, 3 partial days. After today, I will have another 12 days: 6 full, 6 partial. If that's not good news, tell me what is.

'O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy

The best news I could have reasonably hoped for came through today: my blood tests show an almost shocking reduction in cancer markers, and I will only be going through three cycles total of chemotherapy. This means that my last week ends 3/25 (most of y'all will be on spring break) and the last time I will have to go in for anything chemo will be 4/6.

A couple weeks after that, after the drugs have completely abandoned my system, I will go in for a CT scan, which will show if any mass remains, and if it is large enough to justify surgical removal. Dr. Shevrin is optimistic that this will not be the case.

Today's session went well enough - my parents stopped by, as I had failed to procure food for lunch - with a new nurse, Jade Distajo, who got me out of there pretty quickly. And I feel less tired than on any preceding Wednesday. So goodness, all around!

Miles to go before I sleep

I get joy out of weird things now. Like this morning, when Marilyn was setting up the IV: it only took one try, and it just kind of slid in - hardly any pain, no blood, and she used paper tape so it wouldn't tear my arm hair so bad.

I'm becoming quite the IV connoisseur.

The bad news was that I was in the hospital for six hours today - not because I had more work done (in fact, I had more down yesterday, with the blood test) - just because Marilyn, bless her heart, is a little bit addled. I brought two movies, watched both, and still had more than a full hour of napping. Not that I complain...naps are good.

Other news: the stubbly bits of hair are mostly gone now, so my head actually looks quite a bit better. This is relativeness at its most aggresive, of course.

I'm a little fatigued right now. Kind of surprised, but not really. I've been warned about the cumulative effects of each cycle.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!

So here I am starting my second week of chemotherapy. Yee-haw.

After (mostly) two weeks off, my veins were in a much happier place than when last I had an IV shoved into me, and it took but a moment to rig me up for the day. And then Julia started pumping this and that and the other thing into me, and it was very delightful. I watched My Fair Lady, if anyone cares.

For no reason that I can discern, I am rather tired. Not in a way that I am worried about, but I wasn't this fatigued last time I had this particular cocktail.

Anyway, let me extend the open invitation: anyone who wants to visit me, come do so! Letting me know beforehand. Because some days will be much better than others. But I am seriously fucking bored, now that the novelty of "woo-hoo, I'm in chemo!"* has worn off. So please consider this an undignified plea for attention.

But anyway, I am doing pretty damn good. They took blood to do a cancer marker count, and when I get those results, I'll post them.

*Also known as "fucking hell, I'm in chemo! WTF?"

80% of your body heat escapes through your head

I am now bald.

Last night, I shaved off all of my hair. I hadn't started losing it, yet, and there was a something-shy-of-20% chance I wasn't going to. But it wasn't worth it, to me, to wait and see, because I really wanted to make the choice to take it all off, rather than have it come off through an indignified process of finding loose hairs over every surface in my apartment.

That is to say, ye be warned. And also be warned, I don't carry it off very well. So I look kind of slightly horrifying.

Not a health post per se, but something I wanted people to know about before they saw me next.

Wednesday morning coming down

The side effects of bleeomycin, according to the info I received:
-rash at site of injection
-fever
-hair loss
-skin discoloration around elbows and knees (?)

NOT nausea, right? You all see it.

So I wasn't that worried about surviving yesterday, except that they gave me Benadryl for the rash, and we all remember last Wednesday...and hey, I talked them down to a half-dose on that. After my dose in the morning, I go to work, ready to face my day, and crash. Real hard. It was kind of like:
10:00-11:00 - I am fine.
11:00-11:45 - A little sleepy
11:45-12:15 - A lot sleepy
12:15-12:30 - I just kind of sit and stare at my computer
12:30-12:40 - zzzzzzzz.
12:40 - I leave.

That lesson learned (fucking Benadryl). But that is not the story, oh no no no my little droogies, because after I got home, everything went straight to hell.

My father and Dr. Shevrin later came to the conclusion that I probably needed to eat right after the chemo, and that's where my problems began. But I didn't. Now I know. Anyway, the story gets right disgusting after here, so if you're weak of heart, or have good sense, skip ahead to the line of asterisks.

I never felt "nauseous" as such. But I did vomit. Quite a lot actually. At about 1:30 or 2:00, I emptied what must have been an entire stomachful of bile. I have no idea how this much bile managed to find its way into my digestive tract, but there it was. This trauma apparently burst a blood vessel somewhere or other, because I then vomited blood. Not much, but still...good God, it is scary. I called the hospital, and they assured me that I wasn't going to die of internal bleeding, which made me happy, and I had some water and tried to sleep.

40 minutes later, the water came back up.

My parent arrived around 4:30 or so, I wasn't keeping an eye on the clock (b/t the sick and the tired, I was barely conscious whatsoever between 1:00 and 7:00 last night. And all the straining and clenching &c, had given me what is almost without doubt the worst headache I have ever had). Around 5:00, the last vomiting of the night, about half a stomachful of bile mixed with blood. My dad called my oncologist, who seemed convinced that I wasn't going to die in the night. Good enough for me.

**********

After all that fun, I was pretty much just tired, thank god, although my head felt like it was being squeezed in a c-clamp. So I slept a lot. My parents procured food for me, pretty much the most innocuous stuff they could get (saltines! flavorless potatoes! herbal tea!). At the time I went to bed, I would guess that I had about 3/4 of flavorless carbohydrates in system (and whatever minimal protiens the potatoes might have added). At 11:30, I slept the sleep of the just, or at least the sleep of those who feel like they've been punched in the gut a dozen times and then stepped on.

I think it fair to say that the I have a new "the worst 12-hour period in my whole life."

WHAT I LEARNED:
Eat something starchy before chemo.
Eat something starchy after chemo.
Take the optional anti-nausea meds before bleeomycin, even though it "doesn't cause nausea."
Holistic/animist approaches to cancer treatment, such as firedances in which the spirit of the cancer is implored to leave my body, are beginning to look like a reasonable alternate option.

Weekend thoughts

With my first week of chemo behind me, some general observations:

-chemo fucking blows.

-no, really, chemo fucking blows.

That said, I haven't really suffered any of the Dread Side Effects of chemotherapy in any profound way. No nausea whatsoever - and thank God for small favors - and no fatigue that I haven't been able to handle (I have to admit, today was worse than yesterday, although Friday was probably the worst). Actually, the only big problem is appetite: I'm having a bit of a hard time with anything other than carbs and fruit. Meat proteins? Bah. Vegetables? Bah!

I'm really, really glad that I'm going back to work tomorrow. Having a for-real schedule again, and doing things and getting out of this damn apartment for more than a half-hour at a go will be very good for me.

There will be posts only as events dictate until my next cycle begins, 2/28/05.

I'm so tired...

The dreaded "chemo fatigue" hit me last night at about 8:00. Apologies to those who I had to miss out on seeing, as I understand that there was a really kick-ass IHOP trip.

I was still pretty far out of it when I woke up today, and I spent most of the actual chemotherapy session asleep, nodding off, or resting my eyes. The good news is that I have had more appetite today than pretty much every day since Sunday. And I'm actually going to get to move about a little bit - I'm going for a walk.

It is my hope that I can minimize the fatigue by not giving in to it. This is perhaps my customary obstinence, but I really dread the thought of being in the same fuguey mental state I was last night for another 9 weeks. So I choose not to let it hit me. Updates on my success or failure as it occurs.

I gots holes in my arms

Schedule Change!
Friday, 11 February (tomorrow) is now from 8:30 - roughly 1:30. Which is, all things considered, a good change for me.

Today I had a new nurse: Marilyn Citterman. At this point, almost all of my sessions will be performed either by her or by Julia, which is kind of good because although Nora was nice, she was also very pushy.

We are told that chemotherapy takes its toll on the veins, and this morning I got my first taste of that: it took two nurses three tries to finally get the IV in me. Not as bad as yesterday, when it took four tries and a rather substantial quantity of blood. But I'm beginning to look like a junkie.

Thankfully, I got no Benadryl today, and therefore I do not have the complete dissociation from the waking world that pretty much defined yesterday afternoon and evening.

Oddly enough, this was probably my best day of chemo, besides the IV thing - I've had a stronger appetite than pretty much since my surgery last week, and I'm less tired than after any prior session. I choose not to believe that this means something will come to bite me on the ass later.

Benadryl is a harsh mistress

I took my first dose of the last of my three drugs today - bleomycin. This is the hair-loss drug, so I could be bald, in theory, any day now (not true. Talked with the oncologist today, and he thinks it'll be a good two weeks. So my target of shaving on 2/19 looks good).

The interesting thing about bleomycin, it can cause rashes and fevers in the short term. So they gave me Tyelenol and Benadryl before I took it. I don't like Tylenol, we all know that, but whatever. But Benadryl...none of you have ever seen me on Benadryl before. There is a reason for that. In all my life of taking drugs, I have still not found anything that wipes me out quite as throroughly as Benadryl. I'm talking fucking elephant-tranqs here. I've managed to cling to consciousness so far, and I think I'm out of the worst. But I do find it ironic that my worst side effect so far is from an OTC antihistamine.

Otherwise, I'm perky and healthy, if we ignore the mass of mutated cells trying to eat as much healthy lung tissue as possible.

Props to Kat for coming to visit me. Thanks!

Take me to the Mardi Gras

My nurse today was Julia Kravetz, Dr. Shevrin's assistant. Which may or may not be relevant to anything. However, she did work a hell of a lot faster than Nora did, getting me out after only 4.5 hours.

I'm - substantially - more tired than I was yesterday, which doesn't make much sense, given how much better sleep I got last night than Sunday. But I guess when they're pumping you full of heavy metals, you take whatever side effects you get. I'm thinking about napping, which would be annoying because I had hoped to edit some this afternoon.

Not all is bad news - I got a portable DVD player last night and so was able to watch Kill Bill, the Whole Bloody Thing, although not all of it at the hospital (short session, like I said).

Now the decision - accept the fatigue and nap, or fight tooth and nail to stay awake?

For what it's worth...

Subject to change, but here's the schedule. Come visit me! Not only will I not be in the mood to talk, I can't move more than three feet! And after Wednesdays, I'll be violently ill!

These are all, more or less, 5.5 hours stays. *dates will be about an hour lounger

2/7, Monday - 8:30 AM
2/8, Tuesday - 9:00 AM
*2/9, Wednesday - 9:00 AM
2/10, Thursday - 9:00 AM
2/11, Friday - 11:00 AM

2/28, Monday - 9:30 AM
3/1, Tuesday - 9:30 AM
*3/2, Wednesday - 9:00 AM
3/3, Thursday - 10:00 AM
3/4, Friday - 9:30 AM

3/21, Monday - 10:00 AM
3/22, Tuesday - 9:30 AM
*3/23, Wednesday - 9:30 AM
3/24, Thursday - 9:30 AM
3/25, Friday - 9:00 AM

4/11, Monday - 9:30 AM
4/12, Tuesday - 10:00 AM
4/13, Wednesday - 9:00 AM
*4/14, Thursday - 9:00 AM
4/15, Friday - 9:00

Plus an assemblage of shorter "go in and get injected" days during the in-between weeks.

The Kellogg Cancer Care Center phone number, for those who be interested: 847-570-2110

Le premier traitement

Got out of bed after a satisfying 4-hour night's sleep, and spent about an hour trying to wake up. The final sperm banking this morning, less painful than last week.

And now the main attraction:
8:30 - I am admitted into room 818 at the Kellogg Cancer Center. It has a bed, a closet, a private washroom and several chairs. There is a TV/VCR that appears to be roughly as old as I am. Shall have to acquire a portable DVD player.

Nora Koenig, my nurse, hooks me up to an IV of saline, to prime my system or something. Making sure I have enough liquid in me. I don't have much to do (I brought the Kill Bill DVDs, The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie, and a GBA with Final Fantasy I/II, and ultimately opt for the video game).

For several hours, I sit in the chair (which reclines, thank god) playing my Game Boy, with roughly hourly punctuations as Nora changes my IV (the concatenation: saline -> other, better saline-like substance -> Cisplatin (chemo drug!) -> a very effective diuretic -> Etoposide (chemo!). A brief bit of fun after the diuretic: I managed to bump the IV lose (then in my right hand), and it had to be transferred to my arm.

I have as yet suffered no ill effects.

Prefatory to what follows

I want to reiterate: this is just a tool of convenience. Given the number of people who know about my impending chemotherapy, I figured it was just easier to keep this board up than to call each and every one of you every day to say that I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (or not, as will probably prove to be the case).

Anyway, I'm going to post every afternoon after chemo, and maybe occasionally on the off-weeks, if anything interesting happens, like the release of a pill that cures cancer instantly.


The timeline so far:

c. 2 January, 2005: I find a most suspicious lump during a self-exam like those helpful shower inserts in the dorm taught us all about.

Monday, 24 January: I finally see a physician, Dr. John Ebihara, after several weeks of bureaucratic confusion & searching for a GP.

Wednesday, 26 January: I meet with Dr. Thomas Keeler of ENH Urology. He confirms that I almost certainly have a malignancy, although he doubts at this point that it has spread. Blood tests are done.

Friday, 28 January: CT scans are performed on my chest, abdomen and pelvis.

Saturday, 29 January: I speak to Dr. Keeler on the phone during Class of Nuke 'Em High at B-Fest. He informs me that the CT scans show masses in my lymph nodes and lungs. I immediately call my father, and suffer through Lassie: The Adventures of Neeka in silence. The Ice Pirates cheers me up immensely. At the beginning of It! The Terror From Outer Space, my parents arrive in Evanston, and I tear out of B-Fest like a bat out of hell.

Tuesday, 1 February: I enter surgery at 8:30 AM. My right testicle is removed. I am groggy and in pain all day.

Wednesday, 2 February: I speak with an oncologist, Dr. Daniel Shevrin. He clarifies that the masses are in only one lymph node, and in my left lung, above and below said node. He also confirms that cancer was found in my testicle. We discuss chemotherapy, and he mentions that because of the risk of infertility, I should begin to bank sperm immediately. I do so, and the process is painful (recall where I have recently been operated on. Recall that I am...banking sperm. I repeat: pain) .

Thursday, 3 February: I walk to the reproductive health center at ENH (I would remind you, I have a large gash in my pelvis as I make this walk). I bank sperm, and it is painful.

Friday, 4 February: I bank sperm, and it is painful.

Normal posting will begin Monday afternoon.